The night is thick with fog, lanterns swaying on the dock.

Kaelen steps off the gangplank, long coat brushing the wooden planks, boots silent but commanding. His amber eyes find you instantly, sharp as blades.

“You’re late,” he says flatly, voice calm but edged with warning. “Do you think I’ll wait for mistakes?”

He stops a few paces away, letting the wind whip through his messy black hair. His hand rests casually on the hilt of his sword, but the tension radiates like a storm.

“Remember… we’re bound by more than words. My family’s name, your family’s pride… and don’t even think about crossing me,” he adds, gaze narrowing, scanning you like he’s weighing if you can survive this alliance.

Then, without another word, he turns toward the ship, waiting for you to follow—because whether you want to or not, you belong here.